


It's Over, Isn't It?

by Braebraebaby



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 05:39:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10269455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Braebraebaby/pseuds/Braebraebaby
Summary: She chose you, she loved you and she's gone





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gerryiscool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerryiscool/gifts), [stephaniebithell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephaniebithell/gifts).



> For Gerry and Steph

It was weird walking through their house without them, having it so silent and still, everything Marinette was not. It was still exactly how they had it when they first moved in together, unchanging, unwavering. Just like them. Even after the war, their house was the one stable thing, the only constant in our ever-changing lives.

I made my way through the kitchen and into the hallway, stopping to smile at the drawings and illustrations that adorned the walls, neatly in matching frames. I still remember how we all sat around her as she opened her presents and the way she smiled as the lid was removed to reveal the drawings She promised in front of everyone that she would have them displayed. And true to her word (and ignoring the embarrassment), she did. 

Continuing down the hall, shaking my head at the horribly clashing ladybug mat that lined the stairs; all the way up to the smiling face of Chat Noir, embroidered with the words ‘Home Is Where The Cat Is’ underneath. I made my way to her study, focusing on my mission to collect photos for a slideshow, that was to be played at the funeral. Dragging a box from the bottom of the cupboard, I sat upon her chair and began to sort through the millions of snapshots. There were millions of photos; Alya, her parents, Ladybug, Chat, all their friends, their wedding plus an entire folder full of baby Hugo. I felt tears prick in my eyes as I ran my finger over her smiling face, looking down at Hugo, only a few minutes old. 

I looked away, trying to gain my composure and saw the frame she had upon her desk. The photo was one from our childhood. I picked up the frame and smiled, engraved down the bottom in her own hand was ‘Alya, Me, Adrien, Nino, Nathaniel, Ivan and Mylène’. In true Marinette fashion, she had drawn a heart by his name. I smiled; she was never subtle. As we grew older and even with the hints that I dropped; she would only ever have eyes for him. I put the frame down and looked around the room, trying to remember the last time I was even here.

When Alya and Nino had asked me to speak at their funeral, I was speechless. Despite how close we were, Marinette still felt awkward about my feelings for her and would sometimes distance herself. I remember being just as speechless when she asked me to be one of Hugo’s uncles. Feeling the room close in around me as I thought more on her smiling face, that was now gone, I snatched up the box of photos and made my way out of the house, locking it and the memories behind me. Hugo was staying with Alya until after the funeral where, as per their Will, he was to live between myself, Alya and Nino. 

The day the funeral arrived it was like Paris herself was in mourning. Large, black clouds lined the horizon and the rain remained a steady companion from the early hours of the morning. Alya thought it fitting to have everyone say goodbye in the very church they married in and the sound of the rain on the roof of the church accompanied the many voices that spoke of their love and expressed their sadness.

The lightening and thunder kept at bay throughout the entirety of the service and as we made our way out to the cemetery plot where they would lay together, forever, for the rest of eternity. I barely held back my tears as Alya placed a stuffed ladybug a top her coffin before the bearers slowly lowered her into the ground. Hugo, keeping as strong as a 7 year old could, dropped two pink flowers into the joint grave, remarkably similar to the ones that used to adorn Marinette’s clothes during high school. 

“Don’t worry guys, I’ll look Hugo. I promise.” I whispered, tears in my eyes as I placed my flowers upon the fresh dirt. The rest of the attendees had left for the wake, wanting to celebrate the lives of the two most vibrant people they loved. I smiled as I traced her name on the headstone. I would always love her. 

 

 

“Uncle Adrien, are you ready to go?” Hugo asked softly from my side, slipping his small hand into mine. I nodded and the two of us left the cemetery. The rain slowly running down the engraved words of ‘Marinette and Nathaniel Kurtzberg’.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise.


End file.
